Child of Thieves
by MarikaLou
Summary: A pair of burglars enter Number 4 Privet Drive with the intention of retrieving some loot and food. They leave with a scrawny boy who answers to the name of Harry Potter. Three years later, the Wizarding World won't know what hit them.


Chapter One

It was an unusual time for the suburban town of Little Whinging. The town was a uniform, average place, where nearly every house had the same red door, white bricks, and neat, tidy lawns. Nothing exciting normally happened there, not really. You see, burglaries have become quite common in the town. About once every week in fact, for the last month. The town was inhabited by the upper middle class who weren't in the least bit familiar with robberies and the like. Thusly, the people of the town were in high alert. Some had become quite paranoid of their own neighbors, keeping curtains drawn tightly to block out nosy eyes, much to the annoyance of one woman named Petunia.

It wasn't that the burglars were malicious or chaotic. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They hadn't harmed any of their victims, simply slipping into the houses, taking money, jewelry, and food, and then leaving. They left the house relatively untouched- no upturned tables, no doors left ajar, no open drawers. If robbers could be courteous, they would be.

Of course, if you asked the Dursleys, they would tell you the burglars were horrid people. They would complain about how they had ruined their peaceful life. They might even insinuate quietly that it was their tiny nephew Harry, just shy of eight years old, was behind the robberies.

"Hmph!" Vernon Dursley huffed as his nephew placed a plate piled full with toast, eggs, and bacon in front of him. Saturday breakfast. As he stabbed his immense food pile with a fork, he spoke.

"Those no-good robbers! Honestly, this is what happens when lowlifes mix with good, upstanding people like us." The robberies had become the topic of conversation at nearly every meal in the Dursley household. They were a breed of people who delighted in complaining.

Petunia, his thin, horse-like wife, nodded in agreement. "I heard that the burglars carry guns and nearly killed the little Johnson boy. They're terrible, the lot of them."

Harry Potter peered at the two adults through a thick fringe of dark hair. He bit his lip as his stomach rumbled hungrily. Finally, the whale of a man glanced at the boy with beady eyes.

"Well? Off you get, boy. No school today, so you have all the time in the world for chores, eh? Here," he pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "We're going out with Dudley- He got an A on that maths test last week! That's my boy!"

Harry frowned, but caught his tongue. The only thing he would receive was a tongue lashing and a slap to the head if he told Uncle Vernon that Dudley had stolen Harry's test and marked it as his own. Hell, the boy could hardly count!

Petunia gushed incessant praises and wrapped her spindly arms around the fat, round body of her son. "Ooh, my darling baby angel is so smart! Oh, yes you are, sweetie!"

Harry stifled a scoff and asked, in the politest voice he could manage, "May I have some breakfast before I start?"

Uncle Vernon waved him off dismissively. "We'll leave you leftovers. Now stop lazing around, boy! Just like your good for nothing parents…"

Harry's face stretched into an unnatural smile. "Thanks. For the food, I mean."

 _Not the jibe at my dead parents, you oaf_ , he thought with a mental scowl. The boy slipped outside into the garden, leaving his relatives to their food. The paper of chores was clenched tightly in his fist. Harry glanced down at it and opened his hand. The list read:

 _-Weed the flowerbeds_

 _-Mow the lawn_

 _-Wash the dishes_

 _-Sweep the kitchen floor_

 _-Vacuum upstairs_

 _-Clean Dudley's room_

 _-Do the laundry_

 _-Make dinner (We'll be back at six. We expect dinner to be ready)_

 _Eat the leftovers from breakfast for lunch._

Harry sighed and stared at the flowerbeds, Aunt Petunia's pride and joy. For a brief second, he contemplated just tearing out all the dainty tulips, roses, and poppies out of sheer anger and frustration with his relatives. It would serve them right. But instead, the boy, looking utterly dejected, simply walked to the shed, picked up a pair of large gloves, and set to work, pulling out spiny weeds.

After a couple moments, Harry heard the garage door screech open and the car rumbling out. The boy let out a breath of relief as he slipped inside to salvage the measly remains of Saturday breakfast.

 **LINE BREAK**

Harry's stomach groaned and he inhaled the sweet smells of the freshly made dinner. The boy glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. Harry smiled to himself as he cut himself a slice of the steak and stabbed the string beans enthusiastically. He could probably sneak in a good portion of the food before the Dursleys returned. By six, dinner was laid out on the table, the kitchen was spotless, and Harry had retreated to his cupboard, prepared for a long night listening to the sounds of a happy family.

 **LINE BREAK**

 _Creak._

Harry's eyes snapped open.

 _Creak._

He sat up on his mattress, fully alert. Harry slowly scooted towards his cupboard door and pressed his ear against the wood. Soft thumps hit the ground. Footsteps.

"Shh…" A voice whispered. "Don't wake the folks. Just in and out, yeah?"

Harry gasped. His heartbeat quickened, and he slapped a hand to his mouth.

Thieves. There were thieves in the house, probably the same burglars Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were gossiping about earlier. Harry's hand moved towards the doorknob. His sense of duty compelled him to stop them. Suddenly, Aunt Petunia's previous comment echoed in Harry's head.

"I heard that the burglars carry guns and nearly killed the little Johnson boy. They're terrible, the lot of them."

Harry shook his head and took a deep, shuddering breath. Trembling, he returned to the mattress and hugged his knees to his chest. He would just keep quiet and stay hidden. Besides there was nothing he could do anyways, if they really had guns. Oh well, nothing in the house was his anyways.

 **LINE BREAK**

A man patted his backpack, heavy with wads of money, sparkly jewelry, and food. "I think that's it for this house."

"Yeah…" His companion muttered as he scanned the hallway with a small handheld flashlight for any niches the two had overlooked. "Oi."

"Hmm?"

"People store stuff in those cupboards under the stairs, right?" He gestured towards the cupboard.

The other man shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"And have we checked there?" He looked the other man questioningly.

"I haven't. Have you?"

"Nope."

An annoyed expression spread across the man's face. "Well, then go and see!"

His comrade shot him a glare and sniffed, mildly offended. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going. No need to get all snippety."

The man approached the door and knelt to reach the knob. He eased the door opened and proceeded to stare dumbly into the dark space.

"…what the heck?" The man murmured.

"What? What is it? At the rate you're moving, we'll still be here when they wake up. Is there anything in there or not?"

"Oh, there's something alright," he beckoned to the other man. "Come and see, I might be hallucinating or something."

The other man knelt down next to him and peered in the cupboard, squinting at the light. As two pairs of eyes, one blue one brown, stared at the small boy curled up on his cot, a pair of green eyes opened and stared back.


End file.
